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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29991690">Vienna</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitypatootie1255/pseuds/fruitypatootie1255'>fruitypatootie1255</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Great Pretender (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coffee Shops, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Makoto Does What He Wants, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Wishful Thinking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:40:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29991690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitypatootie1255/pseuds/fruitypatootie1255</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After case 4, Team Confidence splits up, but during their split there is a life changing event that shocks everyone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Vienna</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There will be multiple chapters and I have no update schedule I am so sorry</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What do you have planned for retirement?”</p><p>Makoto Edamura leaned over the railing of a boat and stared out over the vast expanse of the dark ocean in front of him. As the voice beside him spoke, he leaned ever so slightly closer to hear, his eyes never tearing away from the beauty in front of him. “I don’t know,” he replied quickly, almost defensively, his voice monotone and clear, “haven’t thought about it.”</p><p>“You could open up a café since you love coffee so much.”</p><p>“Too much work,” he whined. “But if my coffee made people feel happy,” he leaned back and hovered a hand over his mouth as he yawned, yet continued to speak through it. “That’d make me feel good about myself.”</p><p>There was silence for a moment, then, as if on cue, the sun began to rise over the horizon.</p><p>“Oh look, it’s morning already.”</p><p>Edamura stared at the rising sun that had barely yet peaked over the ocean, then turned and began walking past the blond that had been speaking to him. Once he got himself a good distance from the other, he muttered out a weak “goodnight” and kept on his way.</p><p>“Yeah. Sleep tight.”</p><p>Not once did either of the men look back at the other after that final farewell. Makoto kept walking, practically dragging his feet to his destination, until he was at a table with a seat built in to one side and chairs on the other. Carefully, he slipped into the booth, rested his arms on the table, laid his head on his arms as if they were a pillow, and shut his eyes. He would have done anything for even one second of sleep in that moment, exhaustion finally taking over his fatigued body as he succumbed to his needs. And sleep he got. </p><p>He heard footsteps not a moment later. The more he became conscious, the more aware he was of the ache in his shoulders and triceps, as well as in his back and neck. During his slumber he didn’t move an inch, which could have been impressive or nothing special depending on how long he had been out; if only he’d known. Slowly, he lifted his head and barely opened his eyes, just enough to see a blur of that who was standing in front of him. </p><p>“Get enough sleep?” the figure asked, that snarky and monotonous voice of hers never once wavering. </p><p>“Hey, Abby,” he muttered, not even bothering to answer her question. It should have been obvious. As she sat across from him in one of the chairs, he got himself comfortable and held his head in his hand, eyes staring down at the table. While he usually would have been able to shake the tired feeling he had, he hadn’t been able to lately, and that morning was no exception. To be fair, he had absolutely no idea of what time it was, thus he did not know how much sleep he had gotten. </p><p>“You look like shit.” Abby leaned back in her chair so far it was only on two legs, and crossed her legs.</p><p>“Yeah, well, you don’t look any better.”</p><p>It was true - her hair was messy and most likely tangled, and she had bags under her eyes that were likely worse than Makoto’s. They were both in the same boat both figuratively and literally.</p><p>Their exchange was short lived but well needed, as the annoyance they found in each other was more than enough to force them into talkative moods. Well, argumentative moods would have been a better term. For a moment they merely sat in silence, neither of their eyes on the other person that sat in front of them. Rather, they each stared at the table as if it were the most interesting thing on earth. It was uncommon that they found themselves sitting in such silence and waited on the other to spark a conversation. If neither of them spoke, then surely Cynthia, Laurent, or literally anyone else in Team Confidence would have definitely started something. That did not happen, though.</p><p>Makoto let out a long, drawn out sigh and leaned back in his booth, squinting his eyes at the sun then shining in his face. “Are we on shore?” he asked. All he got in response was a head shake and a grunt. “Of course,” he said bitterly, covering his eyes with his arm. The silence between them came back briefly, but was quickly dispelled by the sound of a voice that caused them both to turn their heads. The voice was too familiar and annoying for Makoto’s liking, and he knew who it was right away.</p><p>“Morning!” Laurent hummed. He was holding two cups that smelled of coffee and were very clearly fresh, as there was steam emanating from the cups. That man must have miraculously known when everyone was going to wake up and planned accordingly, knowing just how much caffeine was needed after such a long night of conning and getting rich, because he handed Makoto one of the cups without so much as a second thought. The other was handed to Abby, who looked down at it with a look of disgust, probably because of how bitter it was, yet she still drank it. “Have I interrupted something?”</p><p>Each of the youngest members of Team Confidence shook their heads and silently drank their coffee, just trying to wake up a bit more before they stood up somewhere in the middle of the ocean, A.K.A not on still ground. </p><p>“When are we going back to shore?” Makoto asked, having been the first to pipe up after a few minutes. </p><p>“Glad you asked,” Laurent asked as he checked his watch. “Soon, but if you want, we can start heading back right now.”</p><p>The three exchanged glances between each other, quickly coming to the consensus that they all wanted to go back to Japan, then on their ways to their respective homes. Once they’d all agreed on it, Laurent began walking away.</p><p>Briefly, Makoto wondered if Laurent Thierry had a home to return to, or if he hotel hopped his way through everything in his life. </p><p>In the middle of him standing up to put his now empty cup somewhere safe, the ground beneath him began to shake and he suddenly felt ill; his arms flailed and he grabbed the back of the booth he had just gotten up from. Promptly, he sat down. “Really?” he snapped at Laurent, though his voice was so quiet he might as well have only been talking to himself and Abby. He stayed in that seat until they reached shore.</p><p>Once Makoto’s feet hit the sand just short of an hour later, he let out a sigh of relief and stretched his arms over his head, finally allowing himself to slip from some sort of fog in his mind. Various members of Team Confidence, both from the past and the present, along with multiple people they had conned in the past, had followed him off and gathered in a small crowd to say their final goodbyes and jests. Everyone agreed on one thing: they were exhausted and ready to go home. Each person said their goodbyes and joked about staying in contact. Everyone except Makoto. </p><p>Makoto simply stood outside the crowd, his eyes on one specific person but his vision so blurry he was unable to distinguish just who they were; the fog over his mind that had been lifted was back and persistent, and he could feel himself begin to sway back and forth like how a child would in order to comfort themself. No matter how hard he tried to balance himself, how many times he replaced his footing and tensed his body up in some sort of an attempt to still himself, he continued. A part of him began to believe it was only his mind that made him believe he was swaying in such a way, almost matching with how the cold wind was blowing, and he looked like an idiot to anyone watching him. </p><p>“Something wrong, Edamame?”</p><p>He turned his head toward the faint, muted voice that he had heard beside him, and was surprised to see Laurent so close to him. They were practically touching shoulders, and upon further examination he had determined that he was right about his theory on his swaying; he just looked like an idiot. Immediately, his eyes began squinting and he gave the man a dumbfounded look, like he hadn’t heard what he said even though he very obviously had. </p><p>“Uh…” He almost wanted to say no in order to save himself from the embarrassment of looking and acting pitiful. “No, I just don’t feel like talking to anyone.” He wasn’t entirely lying. The buzz in the back of his head began to pulse at the same rhythm that his heart beated in, and he had only just noticed how it was racing. Perhaps that was another reason he felt like he was swaying, because it was so violent he felt like his ribs were being displaced and his entire chest was being rocked every which way.</p><p>His poor excuse earned him nothing but a short laugh that grew fainter and fainter with each passing second. Suddenly, everything fell quiet and all Makoto could hear was a ringing in his ears. The sun above him that had just barely warmed him up from the winter chill was then beating down at him in full force, burning the top of his head and his shoulders, and then it suddenly felt as if it were blocked out by a ginormous, thick cloud. His vision went entirely black. </p><p>Even with all of this trouble and so many issues appearing all at once, he was still standing, just in complete darkness and with no sight at all. It felt as if he were in some sensory deprivation container, and he wished for nothing more than to get out. All he could feel were his legs locking and trembling, as if they were about to give out at any moment, and then he felt a hand on his tricep. He then felt another hand under his arm, and immense pressure in both places. It seemed impossible to figure out who it was that had their hands on him. </p><p>Once his sight and hearing was back after what seemed like an eternity, he was blinded by the sun, which was suddenly at level with his eyes. His own thoughts were drowned out by the mumbling of people who stood around him, and he could feel a throbbing sensation in his mouth; his gums and tongue hurt. He could taste blood faintly. </p><p>“Makoto?” A male voice. </p><p>“Edamame?” A female voice.</p><p>“Hey, get up!” Another female voice.</p><p>Makoto’s eyes stayed open only a moment longer before he closed them once more to block the sun, and he took extra precautions, such as lifting a heavy hand over his eyes, moving it slowly as to not accidentally hit anyone who may have been hovering above him. He ran his tongue over his teeth and was met with even more of a throbbing sensation.</p><p>“What was that for?” Abby snapped, shaking him gently.</p><p>“What do you… What was what for?”</p><p>He once again felt a hand on his shoulder, though this time it was pulling him up into a seated position, which brought a wave of nausea to him. Once he was sat up all the way, he let his head fall forward so that his forehead was parallel to the ground beneath him, fully hidden from the sun. Finally, he opened his eyes. </p><p>“You scared us,” Cynthia said softly, nothing but concern in her eyes. She kept her hand on his shoulder in order to keep him steady. “Are you alright?” Makoto nodded.</p><p>While Cynthia continued to berate him with questions, Laurent stood just off to the side and stared at the crowd of five with a small frown and wide eyes. Although everything had been so sudden, the signs of it had been right in front of him, and he felt as though he could have prevented it from happening. At the very least, he could have made Edamura’s fall a little lighter and kept such a preventable injury from happening. As soon as he’d seen the blank, thoughtless look on the young man’s face he had suspected something was about to happen, so he grabbed him as fast as he could, and yet he still hit the ground with quite a force. Now, he wondered, what had caused it?</p><p>“I’m fine, I’m fine!” the brunet insisted, slowly pulling his knees to his chest and giving his head a place to rest. The metallic taste was still in his mouth.</p><p>“That was quite the fall, Edamame,” Laurent said finally, easily switching his expression from blatant concern to a cocky smile. “Are you sure you didn’t get hurt?”</p><p>Makoto scoffed and nodded violently, not bothering to argue with the egregiously persistent Frenchmen. After a moment of calming his breathing and allowing the ringing in his ear to grow fainter and fainter, he began his first attempt to get up, which was an immediate fail. He was held down by Cynthia, which wasn’t surprising, and was nagged at by his father of all people, something he definitely wasn’t expecting or looking forward to. Had his father not looked so genuinely worried, he would have been pushing everyone away and forcing his way up while yelling at his father about how he had no right to be worried all of a sudden.</p><p>“Hold on, sit still,” Seiji said calmly as he crouched down beside him, earning yet another scoff from the brunet. The last thing Makoto wanted was pity from others, especially his father, even if he felt like his legs were growing numb from the awkward position he sat in - even if his stomach was tying itself into knots and forcing acid into the back of his throat - even if he could still taste blood and feel the warm liquid <i>somewhere</i> in his mouth, yet not knowing the source. “Hold on, you’re pale.”</p><p><i>No shit,</i> thought Makoto, <i>I apparently just passed out, who wouldn’t be?”</i></p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I probably just need to sleep, or… get out of the sun, or something. So you need to let me get up.” The dire situation did not slow down his sassy remarks, not one bit. He tore his eyes away from his father, then Laurent, then everyone who dared look at him with a concerned expression and glared at the dirt beneath him. All he was doing was holding up everyone’s vacations, he wouldn’t blame anyone, especially Cassano, Ibrahim, or Coleman, if they were annoyed at him for something he couldn’t control.</p><p>Silence fell over the small crowd for a moment, but was soon interrupted by the clap of Laurent’s hands. “Well! That was quite a show, but I think we’d better start getting home, yes?” He took two long strides over to Edamura, walking right in between Abby and Seiji, before grabbing the man by the arm and pulling him up. “Upsy-daisy! Come along, Edamame. We don’t want to leave you behind, now do we?”</p><p>Tension hung in the air. Everyone was silent except from Laurent and Makoto’s bickering.</p><p>“What - why the hell are you talking like that?” the Japanese man snapped. As he was practically manhandled he fought back, elbowing, jabbing, and pushing the blond in order to get him to let him go. Although he had done such little physical exertion, he was embarrassingly out of breath, and his attempt at attacks were weak. “I don’t need your help, you know! You might not know this, but I’m actually an adult, not a kid! I can take care of myself!”</p><p>“Clearly you can’t, you showed us that just a minute ago!”</p><p>The bickering continued back and forth while the two walked. Well, Laurent walked, Makoto stumbled along directly in front of him, as he was being pushed along like a child who was too shy to go and ask for a balloon at the carnival. Even with the struggling, they were getting closer to their destination, so the rest of the group took it as their queue to leave and followed the two, dumbfounded at the sudden change in mood; it had gone from concern to annoyance so quickly. Although, it was nothing too different from the duo’s antics, if they were to be called that.</p><p>Soon enough, everyone was settled into their vehicles and were each on their way to some airport or another. Meanwhile, Makoto and Seiji were stuck in a small car together on their way back to Tokyo, and cramming in as much father and son bonding as they could. Well, Seiji was certainly trying; Makoto let his attempts fail. The ride would be long, but it was better than wasting money on a flight. Not that they would be running out of it any time soon… </p><p>Ozaki insisted he drive because of Makoto’s incident just an hour prior, as he didn’t believe he was in a good enough condition to be trusted behind the wheel. He spoke like he was some expert. Makoto didn’t argue. Not only did he not want to drive, but he wasn’t good at it. They were each silent until the older of the two decided to speak.</p><p>“How are you feeling? Any better?”</p><p>Makoto turned his head, which was leaning against the foggy window, and stared silently like a judge. “What?” It took a few moments to register that his father, the man who had not been in his life for nearly a decade and who had done nothing but cause trouble and hurt, had asked him a question so simple and considerate. “I’m fine.” </p><p>“Good.” Though they were father and son, once a boy who admired such a responsible and well-meaning man and a man who would do anything for his boy, their conversations were awkward and unnatural. “Good. So… you’re better?”</p><p>“Just said I feel fine, didn’t I?”</p><p>“Yeah - I meant…” Ozaki trailed off, keeping his eyes on the road as he pondered on how to delicately ask if his son was hurt too badly from the fall, or worse, if he was sick. “You fell pretty hard. Does your head hurt?”</p><p>Makoto thought of how he would answer for a moment, if his head hurt or not; if he didn’t think about it, he could hardly feel the pulsing on the back of his head or the stinging in his gums and tongue that got worse and more apparent every time he spoke, leaving him to mumble and slur his words like a moody teenager at their father. “Feels better than before.”</p><p>Seiji nodded and took his words with a grain of salt. For all he knew, his son could have been downplaying how he really felt in order to shut the conversation down, and he was really in excruciating pain. A thought sent a chill down his spine and his hands subconsciously tightened around the steering wheel. “Good. Try to take it easy when you’re home.”</p><p>Edamura eyed his father suspiciously, then turned his head away and went back to staring out the window like he had been doing before the conversation. “Yeah,” he murmured, not able to find the motivation or energy to salvage the conversation. The conversation that he did not even want to be a part of. He was still lightheaded and hotter than he should be in the middle of winter, especially considering he was in nothing but a dress shirt and pants, his blazer somewhere in the back seat where he’d thrown it. He’d begun to assume he’d just caught a cold because he was so careless. Perhaps it was stress.</p><p>Just the implication of it being the latter caused him to tense up and his back to straighten. Suddenly, he wasn’t tired. If it was indeed stress that had caused him to pass out, which it likely wasn’t, he would have taken it more seriously - he did not want to end up like his mother because he, like her, would ignore his own issues and play them off as a simple illness that he would get over in a few days. </p><p>He didn’t want to end up - </p><p>“Here.” The car slowed to a stop in a narrow street, just in front of a small shop that was lined with gachapon machines on the outside walls. On the left wall was a narrow set of stairs leading to a small living area big enough for two people if they tried. Makoto’s home. The bare necessities, nothing luxurious. Just enough to keep him living. </p><p>Without so much as a goodbye, Makoto unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbed his blazer from the back seat, and got out of the car. He was able to see his father lean closer to his own door, as if he were going to get out as well. Despite what it looked like, he only kept his eyes on his son as the young man walked up the stairs and into his tiny home. Once he was sure he was inside safely, he shifted the car out of park and began on his way elsewhere.</p><p>The moment Makoto stepped foot into his home, he let out a long sigh and practically collapsed onto the floor. For a while, he just laid there on his stomach. He hadn’t fallen accidentally like last time, this time he was finally taking a moment to relax; a moment where the mafia wasn’t tracking him down to kidnap or kill him. He decided then, in that moment, that he would truly begin to take care of himself. And maybe hear out Laurent’s idea for that coffee shop. It wasn’t half bad if he pushed aside all of his hatred for that wretched man and looked at it from a perspective of someone who did not know Laurent Thierry. </p><p>Getting up with a sigh, he hung up his blazer and walked a few steps into the little kitchen area he had. He briefly splashed his face with cold water to wake himself up further, and spent some time blindly scrubbing his hands around his lips to ensure all blood had been washed away. Then, he grabbed his kettle and filled it water, before setting it on his stove and turning it on to boil. While he was waiting for the water to get hot, he grabbed a mug and set it on the counter, set a coffee filter in it, then sprinkled some finely ground coffee into it, before shaking it gently to spread them around the liner evenly. If there was anything he was particular about, it was his coffee; not only did he have a specific way to make it to consider it even palatable (instant coffee was off the table), but he needed a specific quality of coffee or he simply refused to drink it. </p><p>For a minute he was entirely lost in his thoughts, the haze over his mind coming back in full force, and he almost wondered if he should have ditched the coffee and gone to sleep. However, despite his better judgement, he had already committed; there was no going back. And anyway, he wanted something to remind him of the domestic-ish life he had before that idiot Laurent Thierry had plucked him right out of it and into his hands. Just thinking about him and the drastic change that had happened in his life the moment he met that blond asshole was angering him - Makoto’s heart raced and the grip he had on his mug was tight, the tips of his fingers becoming white with the pressure. The only reason he hadn’t keeled over then and there was because he was brought back to reality by the sound of his whistling kettle. </p><p>Almost immediately, as if he were a machine built just for building coffee, he loosened his grip on the mug and shut off the stove, then proceeded to pour his coffee in a spiral pattern. That was most likely what he needed to stay calm, something he had control over and something he enjoyed. Once his mug was full, he removed the filter and set it down on the small table in front of his balcony. He shoved the curtains aside and let in natural light. After a moment of basking in the sunlight, which was mostly covered by the buildings that surrounded him, he opened his window as well for some fresh air. </p><p>Makoto remembered vaguely something his mother had told him in that moment, and as he sat down he recalled more and more of it. She would tell him that if he ever felt upset about something, anything at all, he should sit outside when it is sunny. If it was winter, he was told to sit where it was brightest and just breathe in the cold air.</p><p>
  <i>”Even if you still live in a big city when you’re older, try it.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>”Why? What’s sitting outside gonna do to make me feel better?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Miki Edamura just shrugged and wrapped an arm around her small son’s shoulders as they both stared out the open window in front of them. She was warm, comforting, and smelled faintly of a lavender scented laundry detergent she used. Her face was slightly blurry, as if someone were trying their best to remember how she looked, but could only remember defining features like her hair, the sharp corners of her mouth when she smiled, and the crows feet by her eyes when she squinted.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The two then sat together in a hospital bed some years later, the window next to the bed opened and the curtains pulled aside to allow natural light. The air smelled of antiseptic and faintly of lavender. The boy sat on the edge of the bed and the woman was lying in it.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>”How are you feeling?” Makoto asked, then about sixteen or so, in the gentlest voice he could muster.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The woman’s breathing hitched for a moment, then steadied after a small struggle. “Better.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>They both knew that wasn’t true.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Makoto’s eyes lingered on her for a moment. The woman who had been so lively and jovial only a few years ago was withering away right before his eyes. Makoto then looked out the window alongside his mother, both of them staring longingly out into a world where each of them had so much more potential to thrive, rather than a stuffy hospital room.</i>
</p><p>Makoto stared out the window of his own small home for a minute or so, mug in his hands held so close to his lips that he could feel the heat but not yet taste any of what he had prepared himself. The same longing that was in his eyes so many years ago, nearly a decade ago when he was with his mother for one of the last times, had stayed for so long; in the meanwhile, it had only grown more intense and unbearable. He wanted something more, but did not know what. </p><p>After minutes of staring blankly, he let out a breath that he had apparently been holding and finally took a sip of his drink. Immediately, he winced and sucked in through his teeth as he felt the immense pain of a hot, acidic beverage on an open wound. Although his tongue once again throbbed, the familiarity of the coffee and location he was in had settled him back down into his life of normalcy and domesticity, or at least the closest thing he had to it. Since he was then jobless, his job becoming bankrupt by his own two hands, he needed to go job searching once more - though, when all of the profit was separated, he was sure he would have more than enough money to keep him afloat while he looked. Once more, Laurent’s suggestion of a café had crossed his mind, though this time it lingered long enough for him to begin thinking of how he would go about opening one. It would meet his need for a simple life in which he would not have to worry about being thrown in jail, getting killed, or much of any danger, and he would be doing something he loved while making people happy. </p><p>The more he thought about it, the more he thought about going into such a business and what it would take to do so. He would have needed to find out what type of coffee was best for such an establishment, as well as a place to open it. Money was needed, but if he miraculously found himself short he always had the opportunity to ask… no, he would take out a loan that he would have easily been able to pay back with the profits. Yes, everything was coming all together!</p><p>As much as he had hated to admit it, Laurent’s idea was a good one.</p><p>Before he forgot about any of his ideas and the small checklist in his mind of things he would need to research, he opened his laptop, opened an empty Google document, and began writing down all of his thoughts, as well as space to write down his research. That began his research journey, one that took hours and that he had hardly moved to do. By the time he had remembered his beverage it was cold, yet he still drank it, it being easier on his tongue than before. Once he established what taste he wanted, he would have needed to go more in depth - undertones, aftertaste, acidity, not just the basic tastes that any person would have cared about. If he wanted to sell people cups of coffee he wanted it to be good, not just bland, everyday coffee they could have gotten elsewhere. He wanted to be better.</p><p>By then, he had decided what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to open his café, find someone to settle down with, and live peacefully until the end. Nothing would get in his way of that dream.</p>
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